The Single Most Dirtiest Thing
by Wicked.Intentions
Summary: Cartman/Clyde. Cartman couldn’t think of a better way for Clyde to spend his slave time.


**Disclaimer:** _South Park_, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this series does not belong to me—it all belongs to the magnificent Matt Stone and Trey Parker. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Title:** _The Single Most Dirtiest Thing_

**Complete Story Summary:** Cartman couldn't think of a better way for Clyde to spend his slave time.

**Story Pairing(s):** Cartman/Clyde (in a rather odd sort of way)

**Story Rating:** M

**Chapter Content:** Explicit language, suggestive themes, underage viewing of pornography, solo masturbation, hand job.

**Introductory Notes:** I thought up this story idea when I was doing my daily manual dish washing. I really could not resist.  
(I needed to get this quick one-shot out of my mind before I continued with my other Cartman/Clyde story.)

This story begins tame, but do not let it fool you.

* * *

"Whoa, wait, let me get this straight." Craig swiveled around on his lunch bench to stare confusedly at his friend, Clyde. "You did _what_ to earn the title of 'Cartman's-bitch-of-the-day'?"

"You don't have to say it like that," muttered a depressed brown-haired boy who was seated next to Craig. "All I did was say that he couldn't eat six boxes of chunky marshmallow rabbits…"

"What, now?" Token abruptly pulled out of a conversation he was having with a random female and leaned forward in interest.

"Chunky marshmallow rabbits," Clyde repeated, raising his voice to be heard over the hubbub of the cafeteria. "You know? Those sugar-coated marshmallows that are shaped like rabbits that we get every year for Easter?"

"Yes, Clyde, I'm not a dumbass despite what Cartman says about black people," Token reminded him with a hint of irritation. "I meant, what did you do that for? You know he can eat anything in any amount."

"Dude, have you never eaten more than a box of those things?" Clyde stared, incredulous. "They don't go down well after that…"

"It's serious shit when you're dealing with those marshmallow rabbits," Craig added helpfully. "_Especially_ the chunky kind. No kid can withstand its evil power."

"Yeah, my dad had bought a huge crate of those things last Easter, and they've just been stored away for all this time," Clyde explained, picking at one of his nails with none-too-subtle nervousness. "At least it wasn't the cream-filled kind." He shuddered visibly.

Craig joined in, clutching his stomach. Just the thought of that much awesomeness wrapped in a sugary Easter sweater made him nauseous.

"I don't get it," Token stated flatly. "They're just sugary marshmallows."

"Trust me," the other boys said seriously simultaneously, looking at each other in surprise. Quietly and quickly, they debated the awesomeness level of cream-filled to jelly-filled to pudding-filled.

"Whatever, you guys." Token no longer harbored a desire to entertain the notion of Cartman stuffing his face when there was a cute girl wanting to talk to him. He turned back to her, resuming their previous conversation.

"I just couldn't believe it," Clyde continued quieter, his hands creeping up into his hair and pulling almost violently. "He ate marshmallow rabbit after marshmallow rabbit… There was no end in sight. I swear he devoured our whole supply."

"Did you cry?" Craig inquired with a slight smirk.

"No," the brown-haired student shot back in annoyance.

"It doesn't make you wanna cry knowing that you'll probably have to go through serious psychiatric help before you'll ever hope to forget about the horrors Cartman's gonna put you through today after school?"

"Shit! Today's…? O-oh, no…"

"Thank god it's Friday?"

* * *

With growing anxiety, Clyde fidgeted on Eric Cartman's doorstep, unable to force himself to ring the doorbell.

Inwardly, he was panicking. What was Cartman going to make him do? Knowing him, it would be things to ruin his life—no doubt. That thought alone made him want to sink into the ground and reappear anywhere but here. Hell would be better than this!

He jumped and barely restrained a rather high-pitched shriek when a voice came from behind him, "Well, well, I'm glad you could make it, Clyde."

He turned his head to the side and saw Cartman's bulky body in his peripheral vision. Gulping subtly, he spun around to fully greet him casually. "Hey."

"Hey, Clyde," Cartman sweetly replied, clasping his hands together with a pleased expression. "Let's go inside, shall we?" Without another word, Cartman grasped Clyde by his red sweater sleeve and dragged him into the house, slamming the door shut behind them.

"Leave your gloves and shoes near the door," Cartman advised, trudging towards his couch without following his own suggestion. He hopped onto the piece of furniture with much difficulty, sighing in satisfaction once he had settled back into its comfy, plushy depths. He tossed a notebook that had been clutched under his arm aside, scattering papers.

Clyde shakily removed his gloves and toed off his shoes in the designated spot and padded over to Cartman, looking up at him. Bluntly, he inquired, "What do I have to do? I don't have all day."

"Ah, that's where you're wrong, Clyde—" Clyde couldn't help but think that Cartman had an obsession with saying his name. "—because I think you _do_ have all day. In fact, that was the term of our little dare, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, but you didn't literally mean all day…" Clyde trailed off, "…'cause my parents wouldn't let me stay out that long."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about your parents. I already talked to them." Cartman waved his hand dismissively. "I got a lot done after school today while you were busy hanging out with _Craig_," he spit out Clyde's friend's name like it was something particularly vile, "and then waiting on my doorstep, stupidly expecting the door to swing open at any time without ringing the doorbell. Seriously, any other kid would be spending as much time as possible at home saying his final goodbyes to his parents or some shit." It didn't sound like a joke.

Clyde blinked a few times at the assault of words that came from the pudgy boy. "What did you tell my parents?"

"You're spending the night." Cartman bestowed upon him a cruel smile. "Twenty-four hours of service, Clyde. I'm _seriouslah_."

* * *

"Well, it's not like this could get worse," Clyde mused for the nth time that hour. He dragged a trash bag down the sidewalk towards the dumpster on the _po' side of town_, as Cartman illustrated for him. Middle-class peoples didn't keep public dumpsters near their homes.

As he tossed the bulging bag upwards, propelling it into the dumpster that he had come across after passing Kenny McCormick's house, a thought struck him. What if he just happened to get lost and could not find his way back home? A small smile crept over his face. Everyone knew he had a bad sense of direction anyway. Cartman couldn't possibly be that surprised if he never came back.

Craig would take him in for the night and hide him for sure. …Right? That's what friends are for. …Right? Craig has always considered him his bestest buddy in the whole wide world… Right?!

With doubts but concluding that it was his only available option, Clyde spun around to start in the direction of Craig's house. He crashed into something squishy and tumbled backwards onto his backside. He groaned in slight pain from the collision and peered up at the obstacle.

"Just came to see what was taking you so long, Clyde."

Of course. It made perfect sense that the fatass would follow him all the way to a dumpster on the po' side of town just to make sure that he would find his way back. Clyde couldn't determine the logic behind that. If Cartman wanted someone to do house work so much, wouldn't he just order his mother to do it?

"I, uh, was coming back right now. You didn't have to come with," Clyde replied dully, picking himself off of the ground when Cartman made no move to offer a hand.

"I just didn't want you to get lost." An unnerving smile had tugged at the corners of the fatass's manipulative lips.

"Oh…"

Together, they made their way back to Cartman's house, with Clyde's anxiety worsening with every step they took (or in Cartman's case, every waddle).

Once the more heavyset boy had reclaimed his spot on his couch, folding his hands neatly upon his lap, bright eyes targeting Clyde with a strange sort of hungry look, Clyde realized that there was possibly more to this than he had thought.

"If you're wondering, my mahm won't be coming home until early morning."

Clyde hadn't been wondering, but he supposed that at some point, he would have. "Why's that?"

Annoyance flickered over Cartman's chubby features. "None of your goddamn business! Now get back to work, _slave_."

Grumbling under his breath, Clyde went back into the kitchen, scanning the inside for chores. That pile of dishes was pretty high… Ugh, washing dishes was chick work.

The brown-haired slave-of-the-day shoved a chair over to the sink before climbing atop it to reach the dishes. He grabbed a rag and poured some dish soap on it, lathering it up. He reached for the first dirty cup…

"Clyde, get me some Cheesy Poofs!" barked Cartman.

"Goddamn it," Clyde muttered, setting his rag and the dish down, hopping down from the chair. He searched through the cupboards, making note of where everything was located as he did. When he had finally found a stash of unhealthy snacks, he took a box of Cheesy Poofs and reported back to Cartman obediently.

"Can I have some?" Clyde reached up expectantly for a handful, but his hands were slapped. He furrowed his brow, anger brewing within him.

"No, Clyde, that's a bad Clyde! No Cheesy Poofs for Clyde!"

He was making his name sound like a damn pet name with all that baby talk!

"Dude, give me some. I'm hungry."

"No," Cartman whined. "If I gave my Cheesy Poofs to slaves all the time, I wouldn't have any left over for me!"

"…How many slaves have you had?"

"Oh, tons." Cartman avoided his eyes, choosing to instead examine a fingernail.

"Well, I still want some Cheesy Poofs. Just give me a handful."

"No!"

The next thing he knew, he was being smacked over the head with his notebook. "Cartman, quit it!" He leaped out of the way of the notebook's reach, irritated. His stomach grumbled loudly to emphasize his earlier point.

"Slaves get one meal a day. Are you sure you wanna use it right now? What if you get hungry later?"

"…One meal?! That's bullshit!" Clyde rarely raised his voice, but that was just ridiculous.

"Just get back to whatever you were doing." Cartman shoveled handful after handful of the cheesy goodness into his greedy mouth, savoring the taste with exaggeration. "Mmm… This is _so_ good. You know, if you finish the chores before I finish this box, you can have some."

"You'll be finished with it before I even get to the kitchen, fatass." Nonetheless, Clyde trudged back to the kitchen with a feeling of hopelessness blossoming in the pit of his chest, along with the hunger that was eating away at his insides, creating a hollow ache.

With a moan of discomfort, Clyde climbed back to his perch and reached for the cup and rag again.

"Clyde, get me a drink!"

"Goddamn it!" Clyde yelled, throwing the rag and plastic cup into the sink with a satisfying clatter and _plop_!

* * *

"So what were you doing in there? You made a lot of noise." Cartman idly conversed with his slave boy, accepting a cup of cool milk.

"Washing dishes," Clyde mumbled to the floor. Jesus, it sounded so lame just saying it out loud.

"_Hah_!" A laugh was all the response he received.

Wiping away a milk mustache, Cartman eyed the other boy, who had yet to move from his place at his feet. "Back to work! I'm not paying you to stand around and look pretty!"

Clyde arched an eyebrow at that.

Cartman displayed a moment of pure confusion at how the compliment had managed to slip out of his mouth, but he masked his emotions before Clyde could decipher them. "I mean, as pretty as you could ever be, piggy."

"_I'm not fucking fat_!" Clyde screeched unexpectedly, self-consciously wrapping his arms around his midsection.

"God, calm down." Cartman held up his hands in defense, glaring. "Now go. I'm tired of looking at you, fatty."

Clyde let out an animalistic noise of fury, stalking away. The next time he grabbed the rag and cup—more forceful than necessary—he was able to scrub violently to get whatever the hell it was that was dried inside it before he was interrupted again.

"Don't mind me," Fatass declared loudly, propping himself up in the doorway to the kitchen, crossing his arms with a self-satisfied smirk.

Clyde did as he said and ignored him, plunging his hand in and out of the cup with the soap dribbling down his arm, wetting his red sleeve. The suds dripped and slid down further before breaking away and swirling down the drain with the torrent of water. The sleeve clung to Clyde's arm and was shoved up past his elbow, the wet, slippery, pale flesh shining erotically under the florescent lighting of the kitchen…

Cartman watched this scene with undivided attention for what seemed like hours.

Clyde grunted in effort, clamping his fist around a spoon and sliding his other up and down its length. He leaned against the counter, throwing his head back to tame his chestnut hair that was sticking to his sweaty forehead in clumps.

His hands were covered with white soap that twisted around his fingers, settling between them in a sudsy mess.

Clyde eased an itch on his cheek by running his wet arm across it, and the soap was transferred and smeared so close to the boy's mouth, which was firmly set in concentration.

His hand continued to jerk up and down on the spoon, determinedly removing the foodstuff that refused to go down without a fight.

"Dude, that is the single most dirtiest thing I have ever seen you do," Cartman commented.

"What's dirty about cleaning dishes, dumbass?" Clyde scoffed immediately. "I'm using _soap_."

"Well, I was watching this videotape that I had found in my mahm's room, and I saw something on it that your dish washing reminds me of."

"What." Clyde rolled his eyes at Cartman. "That's stupid."

"No, really, I'll have to show it to you sometime. It's pretty sweet."

"I'm sure it is."

"After you finish the dishes, meet me upstairs in my mahm's room," Cartman ordered, serious.

"Whatever, dude."

Cartman trudged away, kicking an empty box of Cheesy Poofs out of his way and loudly climbing up the stairs.

Clyde sighed, bored, reaching for the next dish to clean.

* * *

"What?" Clyde asked once he had found the right room that Cartman had told him to report to. It was dark inside, but the other boy wouldn't let him turn on a light.

"Well, Clyde, I found this videotape about a week ago in my mahm's stuff. I watched it, and it made me feel funny," Cartman explained, reaching for the cassette tape in question. He held it up for Clyde to see. "I watched it every day this week, and the feeling came back every time. Then you challenged me with a lame dare, so I decided to make you come over as a slave since you wouldn't any other time I had asked."

Clyde thought back to all the times Cartman had invited him over to his house after school and realized that it was more than Cartman usually asked—which was a resounding zero. Each time he had politely declined with a "No way, dude."

"So, as my slave, I order you to watch this tape with me and see if it makes you feel funny too."

"Fine. It better not be a lame kid movie."

"Nah, it's not." Cartman turned to the television that was placed in front of his mother's bed and shoved the tape into the VCR above it.

"Will your mom care if we're in here?" Clyde inquired, seating himself on the edge of the fluffy bed.

Cartman snorted, taking his place next to Clyde with the remote control in hand. "She has only showed up in the morning to serve my breakfast this week. She won't bother us."

They both fell silent, and Cartman pressed the power button to the television, and it flickered on, flooding the room with light.

Clyde furrowed his brow when the screen immediately showed a couple men and women twisting about on a rug, all naked. "What's this?"

"Shh!" Cartman slapped a hand over Clyde mouth, his eyes drawn to the scene with rapture. "Don't talk. Just watch."

The chubbier boy did not remove his hand from its place, and Clyde found that he was keeping track of what was going on in the movie instead of paying attention to Cartman.

He did not understand what all these adults were doing or why they were naked. Why were they touching each other like that? Were those not just for peeing? The longer he watched the movie, the more he became aware of a tingling sensation spreading through him, beginning at his groin area. Worried, he reached down and poked at himself.

He gasped at the shot of… something… that resulted from the simple touch. His eyes snapped upwards, and he was surprised to see Cartman staring straight at him, who removed his hand from Clyde's lips.

"What's going on?" Clyde whined, squeezing his thighs together. He could hear pants, groans, moans, screams, and other animalistic noises increasing in volume in the background. It made his tummy twist around.

"You feel it too?" Cartman asked, laying a hand atop his own crotch. "I don't get it… but every single time I see this, the same thing happens."

"I… I don't know if I like this, Cartman," Clyde admitted, but his eyes slowly trailed back to the proceedings on the television.

"It does feel kinda good," Cartman huffed, crossing his arms. "Damn, dude, I find this awesome thing, and you don't even like it. I knew I should have invited Kenny."

"How does it feel good? It just feels weird…"

"Well," Cartman twitched slightly, shifting his position on the bed to face the other boy, "you just touch it… and stuff."

"Huh? Touch it how?"

Cartman's cheeks heated up a bit, and he scowled. "I guess I can show you." He turned his attention to his groin, sliding his fat fingers over the material of his pants, searching for something. When they made contact with a certain spot, Cartman's eyes drifted shut, and he clenched his teeth together.

"Are you okay?" Clyde's eye brows were knitted together in confusion. At Cartman's sharp nod, he decided to mimic his actions. He brushed his fingertips between his legs. With more pressing, he encountered the spot he had seen Cartman touching, and his eyes flew open, a surprised sound escaping him. He jerked upwards, trembling.

Cartman observed him with half-lidded eyes. "Pretty sweet, huh?"

"What's this movie?" Clyde panted, rubbing slightly to feel more of that… whatever it was.

"It's a porno," Cartman muttered, busy with himself.

"Porno?" Clyde was unfamiliar with this word.

"Adults get together and do dirty shit," the heavier of the brown-haired boys explained, his breathing becoming more labored.

"Oh."

"There," Cartman grunted, pointing a finger at the screen. "That's what your dish washing reminded me of."

Clyde watched as one of the men grasped another man's fireman and jerked his hand up and down. He was doubtful that him washing dishes looked anything like that…

"Wanna try it…?"

Clyde whipped his head around to stare at Cartman in disbelief; his voice had been almost too quiet to hear, but he had heard it clearly. "Uh…" He glanced back and forth between the men and Cartman, debating whether or not he really wanted to touch his wiener.

"C'mon," Cartman growled, reaching for Clyde's brown pants, dragging them down his hips.

The smaller brown-haired boy yelped, scooting backwards, but he was not quick enough to prevent his genitals from being exposed to Cartman. He gaped at the state of it. He had never seen it like that before. It was standing up slightly—by itself!—and was redder than normal.

Cartman grasped it before he could say anything in protest.

Clyde arched his hips, a loud moan ripping from his throat without his prompting.

Cartman appeared rather satisfied with himself for making Clyde sound like the people in the video. He watched the screen for instruction on how to do this and merely copied the hand movements of the man performing this on the other man.

Tears formed at the corners of Clyde's eyes and slid down his cheeks. He cried out at the feeling that burned his very insides. He collapsed against Cartman at the rush of feeling that filled him. He gasped for air, exhaustion creeping over him.

Surprised, the chubby boy stared down at Clyde and felt something warm coat his hand. He released the other boy's small penis and brought his hand up for inspection. "What's this crap?"

Wait, he knew what this was. He once got a ton of this stuff from a guy named Ralph in an alleyway by doing something similar to him. Except that he had sucked for it…

Clyde's chest was heaving as the boy came down from his orgasmic high.

"Well?" Cartman asked with impatience.

"That… that was fucking awesome," Clyde breathed.

"Good. I'm glad you enjoyed it so much, Clyde," Cartman sweetly told him with an underlying tone of sarcasm. "But what about me, slave? Fucking get to it!"

* * *

Later, the two boys left Liane Cartman's room and made their way down the hall towards Cartman's bedroom. Cartman yawned loudly, grabbing a tissue from his desk and wiping his hand that was covered with Clyde's semen. Clyde immediately followed his example, happy to be rid of that weird, slimy crap.

"Wanna come over sometime next week and do it again?" Cartman asked, picking his pajamas out from his closet and stripping down to his underwear.

"Sure, dude," Clyde answered, doing the same.

"Now you accept," Cartman muttered, rolling his eyes. Nonetheless, he graced Clyde with a small smirk before he climbed up onto his bed, snuggling into the pillow and dragging the blanket over his body.

Clyde joined him on the bed, taking his place under the covers beside him. Cartman's eyes bore into Clyde's. "Ay! What do you think you're doing, slave?!"

"Cartman, I want to sleep in the bed too," Clyde replied in his usual monotone.

"No slave sleeps next to me! On the floor!"

"Goddamn you, Cartman!"


End file.
